


mist that covers eyes

by goodnightfern



Series: falling up 'verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:57:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightfern/pseuds/goodnightfern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They drift to sleep with the infomercials still playing and Lucifer's bare foot in the crook of Sam's knee.</p><p>(Lucifer searches for his brother.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	mist that covers eyes

**Author's Note:**

> this is a future-fic of the little verse I'm tryna build with [fell up, threw down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5622430) which is... incomplete but w/e w/e whatever
> 
> title from melissa etheridge bc im a sap

On the western slope of the Cascades, bumming a smoke outside of a loghouse bar, Lucifer hears about the commune.

Sam is inside, nodding over an IPA. Watching the game along with a few other patrons - not that anyone seems to know who's playing who or what sport it is; the television muted in favor of Lucinda William's woeful crooning. Beer sits warm in his belly, the adrenaline rush he's been riding all day finally sagging. His jeans are ripped at the knees from a particularly burly beast tossing him into a blackberry thicket. Right arm in a sling, left hand spilling foam when he takes a sip. It's really not that bad, but Sam has learned better than to argue when he's cramped up on the floor of a motel bathroom and Lucifer is rooting through his fucking emergency first-aid duffel bag. His phone lights up with a text from Dean, confirming their rendevous tomorrow. They split up when the herd did, Dean and Cas turning the Impala south while Sam and Lucifer hung around Leavenworth, digging out the last of the siatco. The Impala's parked in Stanwood for the night. Rare for those creatures to head to the coast, but also rare for two hunters and two ex-angels to attack.

**hows things??**

_good. we're good._

**dammit satan, give sam back his phone**

_stfu_

**wait wait who the fuck is this**

_sam_

**prove it**

Silencing the camera shutter, Sam sends him a snapshot of his nostrils.

**gross dude**

Sam turns his phone face-down on the bar counter. A half-empty drink sits next to his glass, and he samples a sip. Cheap well whiskey and sour mix, ice melted into water. Through tinted windows at the entrance he sees Lucifer nearly diagonal, slumped against a streetlight and puffing long drags of nicotine. When he's had a few drinks he'll bum cigarettes from anyone, but if Sam buys him a pack he just tilts his head, Cas-like. It's a family trait, but where Cas is a curious sparrow, Lucifer is a hawk eyeing its prey. Now Lucifer smiles, tipsy, and stretches his neck against the post. Says something that makes the cluster of smokers around him laugh, step back, shake their heads. Sparks flit from his hand, and he crushes the butt under his boot. Sam turns away when the door creaks back open.

Lucifer runs a hand through Sam's hair, drawing out the strands before letting them drop. This is something he's done before, at sticky counters in countless bars across the Midwest. He'll put a hand on Sam's knee, or rest it in the small of his back. Watching the reactions from bearded men in trucker caps, trolling for a fight. It was just the one time, when Lucifer smashed his bottle and reared up like he still had the fires of Hell behind him, and Sam put a stop to that. Here, Lucifer just rests his cheek on the heel of his other hand and watches chestnut strands fall. Sam winces, leans his head into the pull. "Don't think anyone will mind here."

"Not many people do."

"Cut it out."

Fingers clenched, Lucifer draws back. Finishes his drink. Nods at Sam's phone. "Tell your brother we won't make it," he says, suddenly curt. "We're staying here another day."

"Oh yeah?"

"Those men outside told me a story," Lucifer says. "About a hermit on a mountain, and enlightenment." He wiggles an eyebrow like he expects Sam to piece the rest of it together.

Shrugging, Sam plays it out. "So, you wanna get yourself some enlightenment?"

"Sam."

"You think it's Michael."

Just the name laid out between them is enough to fortify the walls. Sam isn't too clear on what happened here but the ease they've cultivated over the past two hours, watered with beer and shit mixed drinks, is gone. It's a touchy subject, one that Sam isn't supposed to know about. But he's not the only little brother here. Two months ago, there was another one, a psychic in Lousiana. Sam endured a crawling, muggy trip to the depths of the bayou only to leave the moment the woman opened her door. "Any of the angels. More and more people are flocking to him. Elijah's sister disappeared out there two weeks ago." In a seamless display of body language, Lucifer signals to the bartender for another drink. He's good at that, when he wants to be. Sam likes how alcohol blurs the lines of Lucifer, settles him into the curves and edges of his body. It's a lingering vessel-connection thing - the way Lucifer seems more comfortable with Sam's body than with his own. Even now the shape of something missing casts a shadow over him.

Sometimes, Sam dreams about six golden wings spanning the skies. Sometimes, he sees new constellations in the stars. Sometimes, on his sunrise runs when mind supercedes body, the dawn light overwhelms him.

"We'll check it out," Sam says, and sends the text. _We're gonna be late. idk yet. Lu thinks theres an angel out here_

He expects an immediate barrage of angry messages, but none arrive. It's late, and Cas and Dean are probably doing what they still think no one knows about. What Sam doesn't want to know about, but it's shoved in his face all the time. Even Lucifer will telegraph messages across the breakfast table with only his eyes when they're clustered around their coffeepot shrine, Dean sniffing a dark nest of hair. Cas wearing the same shirt Dean wore yesterday. The sound of doors opening and closing when they think everyone else has gone to sleep.

Sam is happy, because Dean and Cas are happy.

They've been Dean-n-Cas for so long now.

 **k. you two have fun. dont do anything i wouldnt do,**  Dean finally sends two beers later.

Somehow it became Sam-n-Lucy, too. Dean likes to drawl it out in a Desi Arnaz voice behind Lucifer's back. There's still a healthy level of mistrust but when it comes down to it he'll just say 'you', and nod at Lucifer like yeah, package deal. Took a while for him to come around, but Dean got a lot more lenient when private time with Cas became paramount. Dean's just projecting; Sam doesn't even bother telling him they haven't gone any further than sharing a bed. Let Dean stew in his own paranoid fantasies. At night Lucifer pulls him as close as possible as if inhaling Sam's collarbone will fuse him with The Perfect Vessel, but they're at a stalemate. Even the press of morning wood is simply a biochemical reaction to Lucifer, something best left ignored. It's just how the two of them work.

 

* * *

 

 

It's very, very warm in the motel room. After the chill outside Sam's cheeks are a furnace, pressing up against his lower eyelashes. Lucifer's hand is frozen on the remote. Settled on infomercials again. Any moment now, he's going to ask to see Sam's feet.

"It's so abrasive," Lucifer mutters, slumping against the pillow. Onscreen the surface of the Pedi-Egg is magnified as an infinite order of teeth.

"You could use one of those," Sam chuckles. He shouldn't be leaning the way he is, on the same bed with their thighs touching, but fuck it. "Do you ever take those boots off? Feet get nasty, dude."

Throwing down the gauntlet. Lucifer can't resist. "Show me yours," he says, but he's bent up now, tugging at the laces of his left boot.

Both of their feet are scaly and tough. Both of their heels are cracked, calluses forming between the toes. The nails are too long on Lucifer's foot. His - next-to-pinky? the piggy that had none? - has a small tear from nails digging in, packed too close together in the boots. Lucifer's voice is quiet reverence when he touches the arch of Sam's foot and proclaims it disgusting.

They drift to sleep with the infomercials still playing and Lucifer's bare foot in the crook of Sam's knee.

 

* * *

 

 

Chickens muckrake for scattered grains under a fine drizzling mist. A woman clomps among them in ovesized rubber boots, carrying a freshy-cleaned water dispenser. Task complete, she walks over to Sam, wiping her hands dry on her sweater.

"First time, I see. Welcome." Her smile is genuine, earnest.

"Oh. I'm, uh, just waiting for someone." He nods towards the mobile home parked amid rows of veggie gardens. "Um. Nice place, though." At the edge of the clearing sit a few beehives. Beyond, between the trees, he can see the outlines of tents. A cluster of blackberry bushes surround an open-air field of marijuana, invisible but for the smell.

The woman shakes her head, watching him take it all in. "You'll be back," she says, and trudges towards the house. The door nearly hits her in the face when Lucifer throws it open.

Sam knew it wasn't Michael the moment they saw the commune. On the hike up the dirt driveway in a canyon of pine trees. When they bent branches just to park the Volvo at the bottom of the hill. Maybe Lucifer knew, too, if there's anything left of the angelic radio. With the strict composure Lucifer carries himself, now Sam knows beyond a doubt. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his sheepherder's coat, the bulges giving away the fists. A quick jerk of the head as he strides past is all Sam gets out him. The hike down is slippery as the drizzle turns to rain. They're back in the car, defrost chugging away, before Lucifer speaks.

"Xaphan taught humanity the secrets of fire," he says. "I believe he's trying to make up for his mistake."

"Huh."

"He seems happy."

"Doing pretty good, here."

"Yeah."

* * *

  
  
As he turns down I-5, Lucifer rests a hand on Sam's knee.

When Lucifer pulls up to a gas pump, he grabs Sam by the back of his head. Turns him to look in his eyes. Lunging forward, but in the end only a dry peck lands on the corner of Sam's jaw. While Sam sits, stunned, he simply gets out and starts filling the tank. Leans against the car and taps his foot while he waits. Sam unbuckles his seat belt.

At the first kiss Lucifer freezes. Sam draws back and waits for him to melt. Accept what he's offering. Rain taps a steady beat above them, numbers scrolling up on the gas pump's display. Lucifer shudders. Replies. Careful hands gripping the collar of Sam's coat. A quick press, a step back. "Can I-" he starts.

"Yeah."

He licks into Sam's mouth until the gas pump clicks off.

Dean and Cas are waiting for them in Kent. The rest of the drive is silent, but Lucifer threads Sam's fingers between his own, gripping tight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> im on [tumblr](http://spoopernaptime.tumblr.com/) ayy


End file.
